


right on the limit

by clayisforgirls



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post Game fic, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-06-04 02:38:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6638023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clayisforgirls/pseuds/clayisforgirls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Gonna blow you later.” Jonny says quietly, leaning in so that Patrick can hear him but no one else can, and before he can stop himself he’s leaning down and brushing his mouth over Patrick’s cheek.</p><p> </p><p>GWG porn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	right on the limit

It takes too long to reach Patrick. His team, no, _their_ team are pouring over the bench, embracing their game winner with hugs and head pats, and for once, Jonny waits his turn. Eventually Patrick meets his eyes across Arty’s shoulder and within seconds he’s pushing past the Russian, eager to congratulate Patrick in the only way he can on the ice.

Patrick’s lit up, his eyes bright and _happy_ , the dimple at the corner of his mouth showing, and it’s all Jonny can do not to pull Patrick into a kiss right then and there. Instead he pats his helmet, trying to get him as close as he can, his gloved hand resting on Patrick’s back.

“Gonna blow you later.” Jonny says quietly, leaning in so that Patrick can hear him but no one else can, and before he can stop himself he’s leaning down and brushing his mouth over Patrick’s cheek. Patrick ducks away from it, like he should, but he doesn't pull away completely and Jonny’s heart skips a beat before he flicks his eyes to the crowd behind them, but they’re all too engrossed in their phones to see what’s right in front of them.

When he looks back at Patrick, his eyes tell Jonny all that he needs to know, and it’s easy to carry the game win back to the locker room, to fistbump the lone person in a Hawks jersey waiting for them as he enters the tunnel. Spirits are high, the music loud, and Jonny does nothing more than to let the atmosphere soak into his bones, letting his body unwind.

It takes him longer to get out of his gear than normal, and when he’s finished dressing there’s only him, Breadman and Arty left in the locker room. They’re talking loudly, matching grins on their faces, but Jonny doesn’t understand a word. He leaves them with a warning about making the bus and their reply is only a laugh. Fucking Russians.

He’s halfway out of the stadium when rough fingers close around his wrist, and he’s dragged through a door before he can even think about protesting. It’s Patrick, because of _course_ it’s Patrick, his smile self satisfied and wicked all at the same time. Jonny wants to press a thumb into his dimple, but instead just cocks an eyebrow.

“I’ve been waiting fucking forever, Tazer,” Patrick says, the hint of a pout playing at his lips, “it’s later now.”

Jonny takes him in; he’s leaning against the wall, aiming for sexy but only getting frat boy douche. His tie’s crooked, his curls still damp, and- and he’s _hard_. In Scottrade Center, Jesus Fucking Christ. He’s almost certain Patrick Kane is going to be the death of him one day, but he still doesn’t hesitate before he presses their mouths together, curling his hands into Patrick’s hair.

Patrick kisses like he plays hockey, like he’s spent his whole life practicing to be the best, and Jonny can’t say that he minds. He’s demanding and eager, his tongue insistently pressing against Jonny’s until Jonny’s licking at his mouth, biting his lips just enough so they’ll be red when he’s done, and Patrick moans, his fingers digging into Jonny’s hip.

“Gotta be quiet,” he warns Patrick, and Patrick nods, pupils blown out so there’s only a tiny sliver of blue visible to Jonny. His lips are shiny red already, and Jonny wants to ruin him, to fuck his pretty mouth until there are tears in his eyes, Patrick taking every last inch of him until he’s coming down his throat.

They don't have time for that, not here, not now, and Jonny drops to his knees. His muscles protest, the tiles floor digging uncomfortably into his knees, but it's second nature to push the aches and pains away as he mouths at Patrick’s dick through his pants. A glance up at Patrick reveals he’s biting his lip, probably to the point of pain, breathing through his nose like he's so determined to be quiet. It doesn't always work, but Jonny appreciates the attempt.

“A for effort, Peeks,” he says with a smirk, and Patrick glares at him.

“Less talking, more sucking,” Patrick replies, and well, it's not like Jonny can actually argue with that.

It's easy to unbutton Patrick’s pants, to slide them over his hips and let them pool at his feet. His boxers aren't doing anything to contain Patrick’s erection, his dick tenting the cotton, the head dark, peeking out of the slit. Jonny kisses the tip gently, running his tongue over the slit before he tugs Patrick’s boxers down too. Patrick’s dick is fully hard, pre-come glistening at the tip, and he wonders exactly how long Patrick was in here for, how long he was touching himself waiting for Jonny, and the idea makes his dick interested but they don’t have time for that.

They probably don’t have time for this either, but he presses kisses to Kaner’s hipbone anyway, trailing them across the smooth skin of his thigh, his thumb rubbing circles across the slit of Patrick’s dick as he mouths at his balls. Patrick likes it wet and messy, but he’d bet all three of his cup rings on Patrick not having any lube on him, so he spits onto his hand before he wraps his hand around Patrick’s dick, stroking slow and steady, Patrick’s whimpers all too loud in the silent room.

“Patrick,” he warns, and Patrick nods, throwing his forearm across his face. Jonny can guess that he’s biting down on his suit jacket when the whimpers quieten, and he pushes Patrick’s thighs apart a little, pressing kisses along the crease of his inner thigh as he thumbs over Patrick’s slit again, trying to keep his strokes even as Patrick jerks his hips sporadically, messing with Jonny’s even rhythm.

“Promised me a blowjob,” Patrick says quietly, breath hitching on each word, “‘s’not a blowjob, Taze.”

It’s a fair point, and Jonny looks up at Patrick, eyes wide and unfocused, and takes the head of his dick into his mouth. Patrick gasps, and Jonny raises an eyebrow that’s meant to tell Patrick this is his last fucking chance, but he’s not sure it conveys anything when Patrick lets his head fall back against the wall, the _thunk_ too loud for Jonny’s liking.

Patrick’s big, but they’ve been doing this for a while now, and Jonny likes the weight of his dick against his tongue, the sharp tang that he associates with Patrick. He sucks gently at the head of his dick, swirling his tongue over the smooth skin as he takes more of him into his mouth, stopping when he feels Patrick’s head bumping at the back of his throat. He steadies Patrick, a hand on his hip pinning him to the wall, fingers digging into his skin hard enough to bruise but Patrick likes the pain, and Jonny never holds back with him.

He settles into an easy rhythm, hollowing his cheeks as he sucks, his hand cupping Patrick’s balls as he does. He doesn’t have time for fancy, or teasing, and this is guaranteed to get Patrick off in the least amount of time possible. Patrick’s hand curls loosely into his hair, tugging gently, and Jonny moans around Patrick’s dick; it gets a choked sob from Patrick, clearly trying to swallow his sounds, his thighs trembling against Jonny’s cheeks.

It doesn’t take long for Patrick to tap him on the shoulder, the bitter-salt taste he associates with pre-come already heavy on his tongue. Normally he wouldn’t swallow, he doesn’t like the taste, but it’s not like they have a lot of options right now and it’s barely ten seconds before Patrick’s flooding his mouth. He swallows, trying to hide his grimace, not only at the taste but at Patrick’s fucking _mouth_ , and Jonny would be more pissed if he didn’t love Patrick being so vocal when they’re in bed, so unlike most of the girls he’s slept with in the past. He sucks gently at the head until Patrick whines for him to stop, and when he looks up at Patrick he looks like he’s barely nineteen again, young and soft in a way Jonny hasn’t seen in so long.

He climbs to his feet unsteadily, tucking Patrick back into his pants as he does so, and resolutely ignores his own half hard dick. Instead he presses a kiss to Patrick’s forehead, hoping that Patrick understands what he means without words. They have to go, and soon, and they don’t have time for Patrick to have his normal post-orgasm cuddle session that he’s so fond of.

“Fuck, Jon,” Patrick says, voice still wobbling a little, and Jonny doesn’t dare say anything in reply. He knows what his voice will sound like, abused and raw, and he doesn’t want Patrick to offer to return the favor right now. One of them needs to be able to talk on the bus, and it’s certainly not going to be Jonny.

Instead, Patrick kisses him, slow and lazy, like they have all the time in the world. Jonny doesn’t say no, just leans into it and lets himself be kissed, all too happy to let Patrick’s tongue invade his mouth until he’s satisfied.

When he pulls away he’s flushed all over, his lips swollen from kissing, his hair even more of a disaster than usual. Jonny loves him, more in this moment than maybe any other, but he catches the words on his tongue before he ruins their high. It's not the time to deal with the feelings fallout, not in the middle of playoffs, and Jonny can reign them in if it means Patrick following him home every night.

They're pressed together as they step into the corridor, his arm slung around Patrick’s shoulders in a way that's anything but casual. But Patrick’s leaning back, pressed into Jonny in all the right ways, the widest smile on his face that Jonny’s seen in a long time. They're giggling by the time they reach the bus, shoving and pushing as each other as they take their seats, and even when Q gives them the lecture that Jonny had known was coming, he can't bring himself to care.

Because a happy Patrick next to him makes everything worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Lady Gaga's "The Edge of Glory". But you know, it fits.
> 
> I has a [tumblr](http://clayisforgirlsfic.tumblr.com/) now. Mostly for short fics and snippets of things I am writing. :)


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